In an instant, the house goes dark and quiet. A few moments later, the backup power comes on, dim lights in the kitchen and living room like I programmed.
“Ooooh.” Bea grins. “Power outage.”
I chuckle. “Your favorite.”
“Now, youhaveto get Jordan.”
“Do I.” I lift my eyebrows at her, but I’m smiling, too.
“You have to make sure she’s okay. She’s in the dark.” Her expression softens and I get that twisting, affectionate feeling in my chest. “What if she’s lonely?”
I’m filled with equal parts excitement and dread. Jordan, who I kissed. Jordan, who I can’t stop thinking about.
Jordan, who’s been avoiding me for a week. She attends the meetings, she’s there at practice, and during games, she’s behind the scenes, watching and strategizing, but we don’t joke. We don’t tease. She doesn’t give me that small, guarded smile.
I miss her. She’s right in front of me and I miss her.
I should have kept those pink lacy panties. Every night, late in my bed, I think about them. I jerk off to the image of her wearing them, of me sliding them off her. I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be doing any of this—challenging her to cuddle with me, taking her for dinner, just the two of us. Kissing her. Thinking about her.
Looking up at the stars at night, thinking about what constellation she’d be.
She’s alone in the dark, though, and probably cold. That’s not okay.
“Okay. I’ll go get her.”
I grab my raincoat and a big umbrella at the back door before heading to the guesthouse. A light moves around inside. Her phone flashlight, probably.
I knock on the front door and hear a yelp and a crash inside.
“Jordan?” I call.
“One second.” A moment later, the door opens. She looks lovely, as always, with her bangs slightly in her eyes and her hair down around her shoulders. She’s wearing black leggings that fit much more snugly than any of the work trousers or jeans I’ve seen her in. Her thin, off-the-shoulder t-shirt has a vintage, sketchbook-style image of a fox on it.
“What?” she asks with a strange look, and I realize I’m smiling at her t-shirt.
“Nothing.” I shake myself. How do I tell the woman I’m not supposed to be messing around with that when I look up at the night sky, I think about her?
She’s about to say something but her eyes catch on my house behind me. “Why do you have power and I don’t? Do you have a generator?”
“My house is on a smart grid. We’re pulling power from the electric vehicle in the garage. Once the power comes back on, the car will start charging again.”
“Oh. Cool.” She looks impressed, and I’m pathetic for the spike of pride I feel.
“Bea insisted I come get you. We don’t know when the power will come back on.” Our area has a lot of big, old trees that fall on power lines during storms. Sometimes the power comes back on quickly, sometimes it takes overnight. “We have pizza.”
I don’t mention the lonely part. I don’t want to see her flounder for an answer. That would break my fucking heart. That would ruin any control I have left.
The corner of her mouth curls up. “Pizza, huh.”
“Pineapple jalapeno. I could probably be convinced to share, if you ask nicely.”
She snorts, but to my relief, she shoves her feet in her shoes beside the door.
Something behind her catches my eye—a drawing tacked up on the fridge. Two figures, one big and one small. The bigger one has dark hair and bangs. What looks like a record player is between them and music notes fill the air.
“Did Bea draw that?”
